Sunday, March 20, 2011


The rain tonight
Is like bleeding in my thumping heart.
It pounds down so hard and fast
Reminding me that we are so far apart.

The sky tonight
Is grey like every yesterday’s defeat.
It reflects nothing of any value
But it somehow makes my solitude complete.

The air tonight
Is rank with moisture and hints of sweat.
It feels as though I have died
With only glimpses of your charms to regret.

The sounds tonight
Are washed white with watery cascades
Crashing on concrete receptacles
That throw drenched drops back up in spades.

The smell of tonight
Is fresh with the rain it freely dispenses.
But my nostrils are not distracted in any way,
Because the scent of you lingers in my senses.

The taste of tonight
Is rich with expensive ways of dulling pretences –
Spirits and froth fill me up with numbness –
Anything to take my mind off your stubborn defences.

But back to my old heart,
Which you have made young enough to flutter anew.
You know my quest has not changed and it never will –
Tonight’s sweet rain is as wet as my love for you is true.

Sunday, March 13, 2011


As I waited alone
I was aware of a low late summer sun
Pushing shapeless shadows
Towards the shifting shoreline;
And the waves shunted
Watery white foam in response,
Crashing and withdrawing
With a faultless sense of rhythm.

There were shrills
From shouting children
In the shimmering surf
And seagulls called and glided,
Gorged on cheery chips
And beery batter.
An endless stream of cars
Rolled drunkenly
Through the roundabout
And glasses of diners and drinkers
Stood frosty and dripping wet
On clammy cardboard coasters.

A figure
Made from the softest, smoothest clay
God had reserved for women
Came into my view
And smiled behind a shield
Of designer Dior shade;
With hips swinging and swathed
In scrubbed blue denim stretched taut,
And breasts swaying just a little
As if flirtingly free
Of any unnecessary restraint.

So I grinned too
And advanced my shaking hand
In grateful greeting,
While my heart leaped
And found a fast backbeat
To the cymbals of surging surf.
Then we kissed –
Or, rather I kissed both your silky cheeks,
In my fumbling way –
And I was sure
That Persia’s kind kisses of friendship
Would never be enough.

When the sunglasses were thrown back
Above your fringed forehead,
The spell of sparkling eyes
Burst irresistible
And wholly sweet for me –
Dark and dancing –
I was bewitched, charmed, and terrorised
All in one efficient swoop –
And so it began,
And so it goes on
And on.

Sunday, March 6, 2011


In His wisdom
God has made us men of clay
In such a way
That we divine a thrill of sorts
From each new woman
Whom we encounter.

Whether it be sourced
In dark, come hither eyes,
Or a rounded pout
That emits a laughing voice,
Or locks of many colors
Caressing a beguiling face,
Or curves and shapes
That bounce and flounce,
Or wit that moves us
To wonder about our world.
All these marvels
Can call that thrill
To come and make us
Slaves to wants and needs.

And yet it seems so odd
That, once in a while,
One woman comes along
Who presents us with
That pleasing prod
And puzzling power
That makes more thrills
Than we can handle.
One woman – not perfect –
But lit by her own bright candle
And holding the keys –
Not to paradise –
But to a garden
Just beside its gates.
And, as we revel in its shade,
Then rest in its soft cool breeze,
We come to know
That God is truly wise.